Look at Me
by Apocalyptic Mirage
Summary: Hogwarts is just another British boarding school, Fleur is just another foreign exchange student, and Hermione is just another face in the crowd; except of course Hogwarts is magical, Fleur is beautiful, and Hermione's face keeps attracting the eyes of Hogwarts' beautiful foreign exchange... and she seems to like it when Hermione glances back.
1. Chapter 1

Note: Once again, this does not relate to any of my earlier fics. The promised continuation of my first one is being developed every free, undistracted moment of my time, along with _- dramatic intake of breath -_ actual plot-based, multi-chaptered fictions such as this. More on that in/at a more appropriate place/time. My sincerest appreciation goes out to you readers and reviewers; especially, those I forget or cannot reply to like "guests" I cannot contact in any other fashion than ANs. Which I try (but obviously fail) to avoid. Please let me know what you think. Hit my ignorance. Cheers.

There's a strong possibility that most of this story will actually take place after the usual Hogwarts 4th year setting. In fact, I just decided it will. The subsequent chapters will be longer.

* * *

Sitting right beside her, Hermione was the first and only person to turn when Ginny threw her fork on the tabletop beside her plate with a mad look in her eye.

"Hermione, she's staring and it's freaking me out," Ginny stated rather calmly for a girl who'd just abused her silverware.

Ginny wasn't specific, and Hermione didn't ask for it, didn't need it.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" Hermione asked rather calmly for a girl being stared at from across two dining tables.

She refused to meet those eyes watching her, and opted instead to look toward her friend with the fierce gaze steadily locked upon Hermione's watcher.

"Tell her to stop," Ginny forcefully instructed in something akin to a growl.

"_Bonjour, good day, please stop staring at me_..." Hermione tried to laugh it off while turning back to her dinner and stirring through her food, "Excellent opening lines."

She shook her head.

Ginny picked up her (butter) knife and poked at a chunk of meat on her plate to distract herself.

"I was thinking more like... _Hello! Bugger off! Goodbye!" _Ginny retorted with an aggressive stab at that chunk of meat.

Always to the point, that girl. It's something to be admired about Ginevra Weasley. She doesn't beat around the bush; she attacks... Like the meat with that butter knife.

Hermione found it was possible to wince and laugh in the same moment.

Ginny would go straight for Hermione's watcher if she weren't so insistant that Hermione fight her own battle for the sake of Hermione fighting. She insists on Hermione having a battle where Hermione could easily avoid it. To stand up for herself even though Hermione can't imagine it mattering.

"It bothers you more than me," Hermione pointed out indifferently.

"It should bother you. It should disturb you. She's staring. At you. Very stalker-like," Ginny huffed while returning to eating like a normal person. Outbursts aside, Mrs. Weasley would be proud at least one of her children could behave civilly at the dinner table.

Hermione couldn't explain why being stared at _very stalker-like_ didn't bother her. Her thought process went through three stages, and none of them were annoyance.

1 - Denial: She must not be paying attention... Or is looking at someone else.

2 - Curiosity: Why is she looking at me?

3 - Acceptance: So... she looks at me. Okay.

She probably should have given it more consideration than that, but it simply wasn't the most important aspect of her life. She had other things to think about, and do. Like eating dinner.

She picked up a forkful of potatoes.

"...Maybe she likes you."

She choked on her potatoes.

Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year and a more-than-occasional visitor of the Gryffindor table ever since hers began accommodating the influx of Beauxbatons, had arrived as Luna always seemed to arrive - suddenly and out of nowhere. She was sitting on Ginny's other side, joining the conversation as she always did things - distractedly. She had one of those far away gazes that frighten a person when it's suddenly directed to them - like Hermione right then.

"_Likes_ me?" Hermione echoed unsurely with her mouth agape at this new and puzzling view on the situation. The cogs of her mind spun with renewed interest in her watcher, considering the person in a whole new light. Though, her mind was trying to reject the thought out of hand. _Likes her?_ Improbable. Impossible. Right?

"Likes you, fancies you, has a crush on you... Curious expression, that... To _have a crush_ on someone... Sounds violent..." Luna spun off on a tangent like Luna does, and Hermione wasn't paying attention to it. Suddenly, it was as though the cogs in her mind halted and were forced to spin backwards. Disorienting. She felt the idea was absurd and yet made all the sense in the world as she gave it a little consideration.

It couldn't be correct. They'd never met before. How can somebody like someone they have never met?

Hermione had always been a strong opposer to "love at first sight" theory, with it being both shallow and unrealistic. It works great as fiction fodder, but Hermione tended to keep away from that particular genre. She didn't need love stories mucking up her mind. She wasn't big on the glamorized film spin on it either. Disney may make a heartwarming cartoon, but her childish days of playing _prince and princess_ were fortunately long behind her.

None of those prepared her for the idea of _princess and princess _either, but at least _that_ she could look past.

For the first time that night, Hermione indulged in the rare act of returning her watcher's gaze, finding what she had always found: a Beauxbaton with eyes a steadily trained upon her.

The only difference was all the Beauxbaton's features were more apparent to Hermione. Now, she was not just looking at her. She was examining her. Seeing her.

Luminously blonde, pin-straight hair worn in a pony tail draped over her shoulder.

Reasonably tall, possibly older than herself, with high cheekbones.

Fixated dark blue eyes.

Gorgeous.

Yes, her liking Hermione was a far from plausible notion. Almost ridiculous.

So why was she smiling?

Not Hermione... the other girl... She was smiling now. Almost smirking.

_Now_, Hermione was smiling. Rather awkwardly, actually, but you know... what else could you do?

Her sight was obscured by the hand suddenly in front of her face. Not waving or moving at all, just in front of her face, blocking her view.

"You're probably sending the wrong message here, 'Mione..." Ginny warned.

Ginny's hand wasn't all that an extraordinary sight - as this girl was, now that Hermione got a right look at her - but she turned with only minimal reluctance to look at Ginny, who'd broken off from her conversation with Luna. Not that the Ravenclaw noticed much.

"Luna thinks you've got Nargles messing with your head."

Although there was never any sort of proof for Luna's bizarre creatures, there was something behind that idea. Something was messing with her head. And her chest. And her gut.

_Oh gosh, don't be stupid. You're being stupid._

A discreet glance back at the Ravenclaw table gave Hermione another glimpse of that same blonde looking rather pleased with herself, and a more disoriented feeling in her chest, her gut, and her mind.

The cogs were spinning frontward again, rationality catching up with Hermione's romanticism.

Was it at all possible that girl liked Hermione? It would explain the staring, but that was unreasonable. They'd never met.

Was it at all possible for Hermione to like that girl? It would explain the feelings Hermione was feeling, but that would be unreasonable. They'd never met.

There was something that bothered Hermione about the girl's staring after all. One thing... She didn't know _why_. She didn't know _her_. They'd never met.

The problem here was obvious.

They had never met, but Hermione intended to fix that.


	2. Chapter 2

If insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, then desperation is doing the same thing and _longing_ for a different result, and Fleur was _desperate_. Her peers could see that. They could also see she wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

Or she'd gotten very, very bad at it.

Fleur was flanked at the Ravenclaw table by a classmate on her right, and a friendly Hogwarts fifth year on her left. She couldn't have told you that, though. She didn't notice anything between herself and her Gryffindor eye candy. She couldn't even tell that among tonight's dinner spread was some of her least-hated least-favorite meals, which is to say she would actually be _okay_ with eating it. Her plate remained empty in this obliviousness as the fifth year at her left had remained unanswered when she inquired about Fleur's apparent lack of appetite.

It wasn't Cho Chang's fault she wasn't the cute little Gryffindor girl Fleur seemed obsessed over lately.

Fleur's nearest classmate, Colette, took pity on Cho's well-meant attempt that - Colette would wager - Fleur _would_ appreciate if she wasn't too busy to realize it was there. That, at least, was typical for Fleur. She was always a selective sort of unaware. If you don't catch her attention straight away, there was no garnering her attention at all. It often came across as snobbism.

"She is distracted, Ms. Chang," Fleur's classmate explained in a sweet, and accented voice while craning her neck to peer around Fleur, "Please excuse 'er."

Cho mirrored the action and laughed uneasily, "Oh, I was worried for a moment that she didn't speak English."

Fleur remained unresponsive to the chat going on - literally - around her.

"Non. We all speak English. No matter what ze other girls may imply," she explained with an embarrassed shake of her head thinking of all the genuinely snobby girls in their school, "Do not believe them if they try to make you think so."

Cho gave a once-over at Fleur's far-away face.

"So, she's... Distracted..." Cho mumbled tracing Fleur's line of vision to see Ginny Weasley throwing back a Weasley-worthy glare she was used to seeing on the quidditch pitch, directed at Slytherins, and _especially_ on the quidditch pitch, directed at Slytherins. Ginny must not like Fleur.

"Is she looking at Ginny?" Cho asked and commented below a whisper, "_Gods save her if she is."_

Colette tried to connect the name to any of the faces in the Great Hall around them, but couldn't.

"Who?"

Cho realized she must have no idea who Cho was talking about. She forgets that Beauxbatons do not recognize what Hogwarts has known for years, a prime example being Weasleys.

"Ginny Weasley, the red-headed girl at the last table where the Gryffindors sit," Cho explained.

"Red-head? Non," Colette shook her head immediately. Fleur's Gryffindor was a distinctly messy-haired brunette.

She looked to where the Gryffindors sat anyway, spotting the correct girl sitting just beside the glaring, red-head Ginny.

"There at Ginny's left. Who is that?"

Colette wondered whether Fleur would break from her trance and join the conversation if she knew they were talking about the girl, but there was of course no way for Fleur to know that. She would have to be listening to them at all.

Fleur remained inattentive to Colette and Cho, but seemed to smile only slightly more, and straighten her posture almost imperceptibly.

It seemed the messy-haired brunette was finally looking back at Fleur, and rather like a puppy Fleur was instantly happy with that.

"Oh, that's Hermione Granger," Cho answered, "She's a fourth year, really smart... Probably could've made it into Ravenclaw."

Ravenclaws were the smart ones, and Gryffindors were the courageous ones. It seems _Hermione_ was smart _and_ courageous. Fleur has a skilled eye.

"Fleur wishes to befriend 'er," Colette shrugged. It was the truth. Fleur wanted to be her friend.

First.

"But is being_ very, very_ awkward about it."

Cho gave Fleur a sympathetic glance before smiling back at Colette.

"Well, tell her not to worry about it. Hermione is nice if you are."

She was giving Fleur the benefit of the doubt there. Fleur didn't always come off as nice, but it was apparent once you get past the iciness that she was at least decent. That's probably what Cho meant by "nice". The Beauxbatons have already noticed that some Hogwarts students weren't so... _nice_.

"She will be absolutely _thrilled_ to hear that..." Colette laughed, delighted.

Colette's fingers came forward to literally snap Fleur's attention away from her precious Hermione, and while Fleur shook off her daze and gathered her bearings, Colette placed a few small foods from the platters before them on to Fleur's neglected plate.

"Eat," Colette demanded.

Fleur glanced between her friend and the selection of food being set before her, still reeling from being gone for so long.

"And thank Ms. Chang," Colette added.

Fleur turned curiously towards Cho, who looked back at Fleur slightly embarrassed. Fleur wondered what for. She also wondered _why_ she was thanking Cho. (Had she been sitting there this entire time?)

She thanked her, regardless. Colette was usually a trustworthy enough to listen to, and proved reliable for the moments where Fleur's focus had slipped from her.

Fleur thought it was a very strange habit of which she'd never been a victim until recently. Whenever she ignored what went on around her - as she had been told she did often - it was usually a conscious effort. Over these instances, with this girl's presence, Fleur's attention did just _slip_ from her grasp like it was tangibly being swept from her, taken from her.

"Thank you, Ms. Chang," Fleur smiled diplomatically. Cho had always been amiable and never deserved animosity. The gratitude would be genuine if only she _knew_ what she was grateful for...

"She says _'ermione_ would be very accepting if you were to approach 'er."

Fleur could hear the smirk slipping into Colette's voice behind her, confusing her only for a moment before she pieced Cho's slight embarrassment, Colette's tone, and where her attention had been through the course of tonight's meal together to form an accurate conclusion.

"Her name is _'ermione_, apparently," Colette teased. She felt she had every right for Fleur being so completely _obvious_, so completely _oblivious_, and so _obsessed_ over the girl without actually having the girl's _name_. Being so fixed upon _Hermione_.

_What a troublesome thing, and a troublesome name_, Colette thought, meaning it not so venomously as it may come off if she were to say it aloud. It meant just what it was. The entire situation seemed just as _troublesome _as was pronouncing that name with a French tongue. Could Fleur even say it correctly if Colette could (evidently) not? Their grasp on English was pretty even...

Fleur's face lit up very predictably, smiling whole-heartedly toward Cho, seeing her as someone to help her with this predicament.

"Really?"

Really what? Was that _really_ her name? Would she _really_ be okay with Fleur just walking up to her? Did Fleur _really_ stand a chance with her?

Also like a puppy in her hopefulness, Colette observed. Cho seemed to be amused.

Cho giggled lightly - perhaps reading into what was going on - while nodding, "Yes, you'll find Hermione Granger is quite an open mind."

Colette could see Fleur about to launch an array of Hermione-themed questions, so she pulled her friend back by the shoulder, reminding her that this was dinner, and she should eat.

Fleur's mind was still so far away, but now at least she was getting something down.

Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger.

Oh, how was Fleur supposed to think of anything else now? She had a name for the face, and possibly a shot at something. Friendship. Maybe (hopefully) more.

She would be lying to herself if she denied she wanted a _more_, and Fleur Delacour wasn't in the business of lying to herself.

She was also, typically, not in the business of swooning like a lovesick fool, but she could suddenly imagine herself behaving in such a manner if she were to approach _Hermione_. Ah, how was she going to accomplish _that_?

What was she like, anyway? What _did_ she like? Would they get along well?

So many questions...

"_Slowly_," Colette advised.

Fleur was tearing through a bit of bread when she stopped and turned to Colette. Between them, an understanding passed in the way it did between two friends who knew each other all too well. A confession. An acceptance. An offer to help in whatever way. Wordlessly elegant, it was one of those things that happen without thought. It just suddenly was.

"Thank you," Fleur spoke sincerely.

Colette rolled her eyes for appearances' sake, and they both went back to eating.

It was when the plates were cleared, and all students were leaving that Colette went to work. One day, she had to thank Ms. Hermione Granger for being so conveniently (unknowingly) compliant, but she realized Hermione should be the one to one day thank her, as Fleur had.

Fleur would immediately forget that she _was _thankful for Colette when she found Hogwarts' sturdy oak doors cutting her off on her way out of the castle behind the rest of the Beauxbatons.

At first, Fleur was flustered and indignant at the fact that her friend had just _spelled the door shut in her face, _but that feeling rushed aside for a new wave of instant anxiety upon turning to where she could hear a light laughter behind her and finding the girl she could now identify as _Hermione Granger _standing... Right. There.

Fleur swallowed and could not breathe, but this she tried and could hide well behind an expertly practiced, dignified composure (front).

"...Hello there," Hermione greeted tentatively in a tone that betrayed her own nervousness, which was both sweet and relieving.

It appeared the younger student was not as schooled in concealing her true nature. But then, what could Fleur claim? She'd already been seen staring without subtlety or shame. How laughable was an attempt at disinterest now!

To say words were caught in her throat was also laughable. All the words of her multilingual vernacular were swirling around her mind, calling out teasingly just beyond her reach, until she breathed a deep, calming breath and smiled in kind to Hermione's small, lip-biting grin.

"_Bonsoir_," Fleur greeted, coming out smoother than she felt. _Praise her mother tongue!_

Hermione looked in deep consideration, something that wasn't so uncommon an expression on the girl, Fleur had noticed. She was curious. Tugging at the hem of her gray, red-and-gold-lined jumper, with her left eyebrow raised she looked to be weighing upon asking the question at her lips. Fleur would be more than welcome to anything the girl asked of her. She was also particularly keen on those lips, but that sort of thinking would lead to a lot of _not-thinking_.

"I've seen you, you know..."

Something in the way she said it also pointed that Hermione didn't just see Fleur _around_. She saw her _staring_.

If it offended her, Hermione was showing no sign of it. Fleur was reminded of the wonderful moment in the Great Hall when Hermione had caught her gaze, looked back...

And smiled.

"A-and well..."

_Mon Dieu_, she was too adorable.

Hermione's shifting, inability to maintain eye-contact, and general anxiousness weren't going unnoticed. Fleur wanted to let Hermione know that _she_ didn't go unnoticed. Fleur had noticed. She was the first one Fleur bothered to notice in this entire school. The only one, as it may be, because there were several people around, making their way to dormitories, straggling behind, mulling about... Fleur didn't see any of them.

She saw this girl, a Gryffindor with unruly brunette hair, equally brown, transcendently deep eyes, and an absolutely lovable expression that modestly suppressed all her fierceness from fighting its way to the surface too quickly.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she formally introduced herself with her hand offered in a proper manner.

Oh, Fleur's manners, where were they?

"Fleur Delacour," the young Frenchwoman supplied while grasping Hermione's hand far more gently than she usually would shake a person's hand. It certainly wouldn't impress Monsieur Delacour, who drilled her on propriety from a young age to in turn impress other people of noble standings. Monsieur Delacour would have to grant pardon, though, because Hermione wasn't some nobleman to impress; she was a girl to be courted.

And adored... and praised... and impressed, yes, all in due time.

Fleur considered trying her luck for a traditional (stereotypical) French greeting, but in the moment she had to think about it, the moment was lost. Some things simply must be done when they feel right, and it simply did not feel right. They were hardly familiar with each other, Fleur had to remind herself. She had just (technically) gotten Hermione's name.

She took enough pleasure in Hermione's hand in hers for that brief moment, reveled in the fact that they were - _yes_ - speaking, and however she thought she may actually swoon at such a proximity to the girl, Fleur would not. She would not allow any of that nonsense.

" - You have such a beautiful smile, _'ermione_," Fleur couldn't help but indulge in giving the girl one compliment.

Yet, as Fleur had acknowledged it, Hermione's smile was taken from her. The girl had clamped her mouth shut into a tight line instantly.

"You're heading back to your carriage, right? I don't mean to keep you up... Er... Good night," Hermione began backing away.

Did Fleur do something wrong?

She searched over Hermione's face for the reason behind her shift in attitude, but decided ultimately to leave it, and shrugged off the confusion.

"I was on my way out... when my _friend_," she rolled her eyes and sighed the word out, "She decided to lock me in. Rudely."

Hermione's eyes were on Fleur's before she looked over the Frenchwoman's shoulder, and locking back with Fleur's gaze she said, "Well, the door's open..."

What?

She had a feeling it was open for quite a while when she turned around to find it (mockingly) agape.

"Oh..." Fleur feigned amusement when really she was mentally shaking her head at herself. Okay, maybe she _was_ a little amused that she could be tricked so easily. It seemed way too obvious to her now...

"I suppose, this is _bonne nuit,_ good night," Fleur didn't have to feign the disappointment in her voice when she turned back to take a last look at Hermione.

"I'll see you around, yeah?"

Neither had any doubt about that.

"Oui. I shall see you," Fleur smiled and acted in the moment.

Reaching out, Fleur moved back into the girl's space, grabbed her by the hand, kissed it in a light brush of the lips, and turned before she could enjoy seeing the girl's reaction.

Okay, so she peeked.

A glance over her shoulder revealed Hermione looking very much gobsmacked, a small victory for Fleur.

Walking - she would admit, _strutting_ - out of the castle, she found her conniving friend just beyond the door looking positively giddy. Colette was literally shaking with laughter, silenced only by biting on her knuckles. Apparently, she saw and heard the entire thing and was getting an absolute kick out of it.

"I - you - she - _ow!"_

Monsieur Delacour also taught Fleur how to throw a punch.

Releasing her frustration in one swift blow to Colette's shoulder, Fleur was now free to bask again in the fact that she had - _yes _- spoken to Hermione Granger. Small victories, small steps. Fleur hoped the time would come, and in time maybe that _more_. She was feeling dizzy with excitement. (She would not swoon.)

Colette was still laughing while she cradled her sore shoulder, and the two went together wordlessly down the path toward the carriage.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: This is hard to write because it's just not coming out quite right, which has called for so many re-writes... I've lost count. I've got points A and B down while D and E are itching to go, but C is not being cooperative. Don't you hate that?

More importantly: It's almost September 19th, which means it's almost Hermione's birthday!

For weeks, I have been hooked on the song about Hermione Granger the Pirate Queen, so obviously I feel I need to write a pirate themed Hermione/Fleur for the occasion. I'd like an opinion on whether I should go through with it, and if you think I should, please feel free to leave what you'd like it to be... e.g. oneshot/multi-chaptered, serious/not serious, what you'd like included. I have a few ideas in mind, but I won't be writing this solely for myself, you know. It's like a gift to our fandom... (Which is making me sound more confident in my abilities than I am, so I'm just going to say read on...) Cheers.

* * *

While it was never in her comfort zone to work a plan as she formulated said plan, to act on a whim, and run in head first; Hermione could manage it. She wasn't considered the top of her year for nothing. She was an quick and excellent thinker, a saving grace in the situations she and the boys seem to get themselves into every year. If she could save all their lives with minimal preparation, who knows what she could accomplish with a properly thought-out plan.

The thing about it, though, is that in life or death situations - which always seems to be the case with _Harry Potter -_ the decision was simple. It wasn't even a decision, really.

If you can help it, you pick life.

In situations like these... The entire thing is a gray area. She could, or she could not. If she does, how so? The possibilities were endless, and she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she wasn't accounting for them all.

There was herself. There was the Beauxbaton she would later learn to be named Fleur Delacour, who she had to meet. Her objective was clear. Now, _how_ would she make her move?

Hermione had never made a move on anyone. How does one _make a move_, anyway? It couldn't be too hard. It would have to be rather simple, actually. It's simple. Start simple. With a hello. All right. That's sorted. Just say hello.

How does one _just say hello_?

Hermione frowned at that.

She and Fleur were strangers, but clearly each knows the other exists. Would Fleur just cut to the chase and do something about it? Probably not, no. She might've done so by now. Hermione had probably been "sending the wrong message" or something like that, but still... If you wanted something badly enough, you had to go after it.

Hermione's frown intensified when she realized she'd basically objectified herself. That wouldn't do.

If you want someone enough, you have to try...

It still rang a little like objectification, but she let it go with a sigh.

Hermione motioned through a lot of the night's meal with nods and the occasional polite comment until Ginny started on about Quidditch, and Harry and Ron spared her from even paying attention at all. Luna never needed permission to drift off, and had done it long before Hermione. Both finished their meals silently, and stayed with the company as they went on about stats and strategy with much more vigor and accuracy than anything they would have submitted as schoolwork.

She eventually had her eyes flitting over the Ravenclaw table. Not watching like Fleur, but certainly having a look.

To attempt now didn't seem right, but she felt she'd berate herself later if she put it off too long. She may want time to deliberate, but she knew too much time would ruin the entire thing. There was - she hated to admit because it did almost physically hurt to admit - such a thing as _too much thinking_.

_Just say hello_, she told herself while forcing her eyes to feign interest in closer subjects. _Come across her, and say_ hello.

The fortunate opportunity for the _how_ came when she stepped out of the Great Hall completely coincidentally in the wake of the Beauxbaton procession. They always seemed to work as a pack like an intimidating, mobile defense against approach, but something in the group dynamic failed and Hermione was left a clear shot where Fleur was left at the door. Left with the ornate slab of wood suddenly in her face.

She looked so lost; Hermione had to laugh.

Hermione immediately regretted laughing.

Fleur turned around, and then they were there, herself and this Beauxbaton she was set on meeting.

It's a thrill, standing on the brink of a what could be... On the brink of _what could be_.

Everything in Hermione's physical appearance suddenly underwent Hermione's own lightning quick scrutiny. She didn't trust herself to look well, what with the fidgeting she apparantly developed. By Merlin, she was nervous.

It was understandable. Proximity made things all too real. Minute details made themselves available. At this decreased distance, Hermione could very well see how the Beauxbaton's eyes dilated. An arms length fastly felt intimate.

By Merlin, she was nervous, and it _showed, _but she could do nothing about that, and there was something admirable about it... Being able to be honest.

She was kidding herself thinking she had to devise some sort of _scheme_. If she had to try, she was trying _too hard_ and thinking_ too much_. What she really wanted to know was if they'd get along, and that couldn't be done if she were faking her disposition. The best way to go about anything was organically.

_Just say hello_, she reminded herself. When she spoke it, it was nervous, it showed, and that was perfectly _all right_.

She found herself displaying one of those despite-yourself smiles, and it felt lovely. Playing confident became true confidence, and she couldn't help but think that's how it's supposed to be.

Then, she had to think about it.

The cogs of her mind seemed to be a curse upon itself.

Finally, truly despite herself, she let her insecurities invade her. Her smile? Her _teeth_. They were always a sore spot. Being picked on for them, she never learned to accept it in herself. Her busy hair and abnormally large front teeth made her dorkiness apparent in younger years even before other children got to know her, and the idea seemed to stick with her all this time. Incoming self-consciousness.

_You have such a beautiful smile_ were the exact words Fleur had used, and they were exactly the right thing to trigger her anxiety, regardless that it was meant as a _compliment. _Hermione just couldn't take it as one.

"You're heading back to your carriage, right?" Hermione asked suddenly looking for an escape from this decreased distance thing, "I don't mean to keep you up... Er... Good night."

Shuffling backwards to put a little comfortable space between the two of them, Hermione's sight dropped to the floor dejectedly.

It was silent between the two, and Hermione relied on Fleur to break it.

"I was on my way out... when my _friend..._"

By her tone, Hermione could tell she was using the term begrudgingly.

"She decided to lock me in. Rudely."

Hermione looked up to see for herself, if only momentarily distracted by Fleur's eyes, and was confused to see the door behind Fleur wide open. She pointed it out, to the Beauxbaton's disbelief.

A double-take at the door for Fleur, and she must've realized what happened. Hermione wondered.

"Oh..." was all Fleur could say on the matter, "I suppose, this is _bonne nuit,_ good night."

Hermione took far too much pleasure at the disappointment in Fleur's voice.

"I'll see you around, yeah?" Hermione smiled, feeling remnants of her earlier courage sneak up on herself through confidence in being able to garner the attention of Fleur Delacour. She still did not know _why_, but she understood that she could.

"Oui. I shall see you," Fleur bid farewell.

That was that, Hermione thought, and Hermione thought wrong.

Fleur stepped closer, promptly drawing the younger's suspicion. A gentle hand took Hermione's once more, directed it to an even gentler pair of lips, and in an instant they were gone with Fleur walking away like it was no big deal.

Surely, this was a big deal because Hermione's mind had no idea what to do with this. This confused her greatly.

_Maybe she likes you_, a more dreamy-eyed but certainly not _dreamier_ blonde had told her. It was not too big a jump to that conclusion anymore. Hermione felt like jumping.

Gathering her wits about her to spot another Beauxbaton Fleur met beyond the door, Hermione wondered again. Did she have an ally in this endeavor? It now felt far too coincidental to catch Fleur excluded from her group. She'd have to look into this later.

It was nearly bed time, and Hermione began to ponder whether she could dream of a dreamy blonde tonight, and whether or not that was creepy. She wasn't the one outright staring at a person she'd never met before - she argued beecause maybe she _couldn't_ simply let that go - so obviously she wasn't the creepier one in whatever this was or would be.

She found her usual group half-heartedly ascending the stairs that lead t the rest of the castle from the Entrance Hall with more than a few backward glances. Ronald was in fact all backwards, only following along as Ginny was dragging him by the arm.

" 'Mione, what have you done?" was Ron's flabbergasted greeting.

"What _are_ you talking about, Ronald?" Hermione questioned.

The group came to a halt near the base of the grand setup of the moving stairwell to accommodate the exchange. Ginny stopped tugging on Ron's sleeve once she realized he'd glued himself to the spot petulantly, and Harry was forced to wait for them as well.

"You were with one of them - the French girls - how?" the adolescent break in his pitch further emphasised the sheer immaturity in such a statement.

"I spoke to _Fleur_, yes," Hermione's attention was brought to the power of a name, "I spoke to her. You know, like an actual person. She is just another human-being, after all."

The _just_ part was a little arguable in Hermione's mind, but that was romanticized bias and beside the point. Hermione would not have Ron's ignorance. You treat women like people because women are people. Anything less is objectification, and _unjust_.

"I bet you, though, she's a veela. At least, some part," Ron continued almost conversationally, but there was a light of wonderment in his eyes that hinted that he still hadn't gotten Hermione's point.

"Veela or no, she's a _person_, Ronald."

"...Well, yeah," Ron coughed awkwardly. She could still see that he wasn't getting it, but this could go on for ages if she let it and they all needed to report to their dormitory soon. The halls were almost empty, and the stairs were getting restless in their shifting.

"Let's just go," Hermione suggested taking the lead up the first flight.

Harry remained unsurprisingly silent through it all, and didn't bring anything up about it as they continued. He was usully respectful of other people's business; espescially, when he knew he had no real part in it. Ron was making himself a part of it by asking about Fleur. Ginny...

Ginny was surprisingly silent.

Hermione had forgotten all about how this may make Ginny feel. Ginny was at least to some extent involved, being the one that brought it to Hermione's attention that she had someone looking at her some time ago. Ginny had made it known how she felt uncomfortable at the amount of focus being thrust upon Hermione by a stranger.

At first it was occasional, and Ginny was just curious while Hermione thought nothing of it. It became more frequent, and Ginny kept getting edgy about it regardless that Hermione still thought nothing of it. Finally when it came regularly, Ginny resolved to be altogether agitated _for_ Hermione while she still refused to think anything of it.

The lack of vocalization of her thoughts made Hermione glance furtively over Ginny.

A taut expression was all her face could reveal. Hermione would have to look into that later as well.

They reached the tower, separated at the common room even though Ron was still pressing uselessly for information on "the veela", and went straight for bed in the case of the girls.

Ginny didn't even respond to Hermione's purposeful_ good night_ when she broke off from Hermione at the door to the room for third years.

The following morning, Hermione went with Harry and Ron to breakfast as usual, took a seat by Ginny, who was already discussing some assignment for Astronomy with Luna Lovegood, and it seemed to be all normal enough.

"Did you sleep well, Hermione?" Luna inquired around Ginny's shoulder.

Ginny herself turned around to get Hermione's reply. When it was a positive one, Ginny turned back toward her breakfast.

"Oh good... I was just telling Ginny I was afraid you may not... I'm convinced those wrackspurts may have a detrimental affect on your daily routine. Can't be sure you actually have them until I acquire a pair of spectrespecs, of course, but I'm certain I see the characteristics of their presence forming... I told Ginny to warn you..."

Hearing this, Hermione momentarily forgot she didn't quite believe in Luna's fantastic creatures to gauge Ginny's input in this information. To see if Ginny would offer any input, really.

"Yeah..." Ginny mumbled over a bite of jellied toast, "Sorry... I meant _wrackspurts_, not _nargles_..."

There was a playful smile along her face, but Hermione could pick up a few traces of unspoken tenseness in it. It remain unspoken, and eventually dissolved as the conversation around them progressed. If either of the boys caught on, though Hermione could bet anything they wouldn't, they did not comment on it.

Luna drifted in and out of the conversation while also - Hermione could tell - examining Hermione for more evidence of her wrackspurts.

She didn't realize she was doing it until she already did, but she searched for Fleur's eyes among Luna's house table.

It took a moment for Fleur to realize, but she did catch Hermione's gaze.

How odd, it seemed, for Hermione to be the one initiate eye-contact. It was still so new.

Fleur had a sweet expression with one of those smiles that were the precursor to a soft but genuine laugh. Her eyes dipped bashfully, but remained decidedly locked with Hermione's.

An unhelpable tremor of delightful excitement made Hermione feel all bubbly, all too confident, all gratified with herself.

" - Definitely wrackspurts," Luna commented dreamily.

* * *

Note: I expressed earlier that this part was puzzlingly difficult to write, but now that it's written, that's that for what I have labelled the Introductory Arc. Groundwork's set and stuff. Tried so hard to avoid it, but I used the V-word. It took the third story, chapter three for me to finally allude anything about Fleur's veela-ness, and I'm honestly a little proud it took that long. This is me warning you that it's not going to be that big a thing in the scheme of stuff; I don't intend to go far into Veela culture because there are so many other stories that do a wonderful job at creating those sort of plots, but it's necessary to mention it along the way. I'd also like to know whether this doubling-back into previous scenes is off-putting. What I have worked up for future chapters tries to fuse into a more fluid point of view to avoid redundancy. Thanks in advance for your consideration, and I will reply to every review for this chapter even if it's just to thank you once more.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: So, I never did get back to any of you wonderful, completely appreciated reviewers. I apologize for that, and the delay. I'll try not to let it happen again. I haven't put as much work as I meant to into any of my fics as of late. Yes, I'm going to pull the university excuse. Yes, I realize this is almost always the problem, and I'm doing this right now to put off my mid-term things, and also make sure I don't lose your attention with this. Tell me if it's confusing because, honestly, it may be that way because it's been a while. I tried to keep linear as far as progression goes. I tried.

* * *

Empty words flew in and out of Colette's mind without causing so much as a passing thought, and she blamed Delacour, who was no doubt still at her wits end in the carriage. Colette left to study elsewhere and avoid distraction, but her mind would not sit still upon any of the ideas raised in the text. Always, it came back to her frustration. She expressed it somewhat in an absolute fit earlier, but it still sat with her and pestered her with no real reason to be doing such.

From where she sat, little distractions flitted about. This was no good, but her room or the library would leave her worse. The temptation of her bed calling to her after this long day of lessons, or the dreadful silence? No.

Finally, she allowed herself one of the little distractions, a Ravenclaw one.

Sweetly, as she had spotted Colette sitting alone, Cho detached herself from the cluster of classmates exiting the corridor leading to potions, and wandered over.

"Hello, Colette," she greeted the slight smile Colette gave her.

"_Bonjour_, Miss Chang, is eet not wonderful out?" Colette made a grand gesture of shutting her textbook like a punctuation of her decision to distract herself. Talking to Cho may do just the trick to ease herself, after all.

Cho laughed easily, and sat herself at Colette's left on the cobbled half-wall in the courtyard, in the shallow shade of a tree. Others like Cho, just out of the dungeons, indulged themselves in the precious sunlight and air. It did, to Cho, seem like an excellent day, something they all would soon be missing.

They spoke casually at first, nothing far past _what are you up to_'s and _how was your day_'s came up until Cho had said, "...And how is Fleur?"

Whether or not Cho had meant for such a detailed answer, Colette gave a great sigh with even grander dramatics of placing the book in her lap now aside. She turned to face the younger student as best she could in her skirted uniform. Her Hogwarts companion, too, wore a skirt, but it looked much freer than the blue silks of Beauxbaton, a thing to be pointed out jealously at another time.

She smiled nearly apologetically with a twirl of her hand over and back, almost as if motioning _flip, flop_. Her meaning, as Cho then inferred, so-so, here-and-there, neither good nor necessarily bad. Cho had her share of those days, or so was her reasoning before Colette explained what had went on just earlier as Colette sat in the dark a world away brewing a dreamless drought.

Now midway through October, the chances laid themselves out evenly. There were classes. There were lunches, breakfasts, and dinners – every day in fact. There were weekends, and the first visit to the neighboring village. Many, many, frustratingly, many opportunities, and...

"What do you mean you have not spoken to her since?!"

The instant surge of anger – yes _anger_ – sparked and Colette threw a book almost as a reflex. Her limb recoiled and with the book there in her right hand, it only felt right to push it forward again, and so the tome was flung across the room. If Fleur did not have her wand out for practice, she would not have been quick enough to defend from the projectile.

Fleur gave a panicky flick of her wrist and sent the heavy-looking thing flying elsewhere. She was sharp enough to duck then after, going under the desk, evading a half-eaten chocolate frog, the object previously in Colette's left hand. That wasn't reflex. That was sheer protest.

Eventually, the volleys eased. A book ironically about defense, a chocolate frog, a pillow off the chair, a stupid little trinket of Fleur's that sat on a shelf innocuously until then... They came further and further apart until nothing else rolled to the floor over the edge of the desk. Either Colette had found her senses, or ran out of ammunition. One way or the other, Fleur gave a brief but no less grateful thanks before exiting her makeshift bunker ready to face her friend guiltily.

Slowly at first, in case this was some well-construed strategy to lure her back into range, Fleur brought her head up just enough to look over the pages of her own book for potions left abandoned on the table. Colette – now standing – shook her head from side to side, and nothing seemed to be in her arm's reach with her seat and shelf above the headboard of Fleur's bed now eptied of anything not spelled down. Fleur crept back into her chair and, however guilty she felt, she would not stow her wand just yet. Colette could still lunge for her own desk on her right.

"Unbelievable," Colette droned without amusement. Her hand poised on her temple.

"Unhelpable!" Fleur defended, wand aloft.

"You are only to blame for that!" Colette's voice rose to match Fleur's, and quickened to emphasize that there was no arguing. Her eyes, closed in exasperation, now opened to stare Fleur down, "Do not give me this _one does not simply _either! One _does_ and so _simply_!"

"It is _not_ simple," Fleur's defense was poor. Even she could not believe her own lack of action. Her wand lowered until her hand hit the desk.

Her deep blue gaze dropped to the floor, and she pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around them. She was both frustrated at herself, and saddened so.

Across the room, rage now far past, Colette's expression softened from her judgmental disbelief. She was, after all, supposed to help her friend. The lost look on Fleur's face read that this was no time for this reaction. Fleur wasn't ready for that. Maybe she wasn't ready for any of... what she was trying to do.

"Just... go with things," Colette suggested, "Maybe you don't have to necessarily _do_ anything... Just don't _stop_ things."

Fleur thought about it. That night, all that time ago, when Hermione Granger had approached her, left her both eager for something to come, and scared out of her mind about what to do about it.

Simply (she could _laugh_ at that word), Fleur had been avoiding Hermione as much as Fleur wanted to be with her. The possibility of _being with her _was not so ludicrous now, not absolutely unattainable; a long-shot perhaps, but not _out of the question_. With it being possible came the possibility of her screwing things up. That was worrying. It caused Fleur to be petrified even more so to talk to Hermione, locking her jaw like a clamp when she passed by Fleur in the hallway, or conversely, her feet especially agile in skittering away at the sight of Hermione like... like... a school-girl!

Well now, she was done with that. She could do that right? She could.

By the time Fleur pulled herself from her reflective thought, she noticed Colette halfway out of her pyjamas and halfway back into her school clothes.

"I'm going out study," Colette informed her. She meant that she would leave Fleur to her own devices.

Hopefully, relieving her of the pressure would ease things naturally, but she had left Fleur to progress naturally with Hermione right after the door incident. Would she have to play cupid again? Again, _hopefully_ not. She could not imagine the blow to Fleur's Delacour pride if she even suspected things to be orchestrated by anyone or thing other than Fleur herself and fate. It would have to be happenstance or not happen at all. Besides, not that she told her, but Fleur's fist left a mark of something bad upon her shoulder from that one time alone.

The door shut gently behind Colette, and the faint buzz from beyond it died away with the sound.

Would being out among more people be good? Fleur had in fact been especially social since avoiding Hermione began to become a thing.

It was funny in a way that was not laughable at all – irony again – that once upon a time Fleur had almost beg the fates to deliver an opportunity to speak to her. Now, any means for things to come between them were met. It was especially distasteful when none of her schoolmates were present. They acted as an excellent buffer, no doubt all the French flying around intimidated anyone from Hogwarts or Durmstrang from approaching, but when Fleur found herself alone in the halls... well, the attention doesn't stop. She so wish it had. Veela, however, do not catch such breaks.

Fleur pulled herself up, up so that she stood upon her chair, stepped on an uncovered bit of her desk and proceeded to fall unceremoniously onto her bed chanting to herself how stupid, stupid, stupid that one thing was. That one thing she didn't want to talk to Colette about; the other girl would laugh herself silly (or maybe, after seeing how she reacted to Fleur "not" taking a chance, just sigh greatly or throw another fit) and proceed to feel sorry for her. She was sorry enough for herself, thanks!

But she wouldn't be anymore, no. She couldn't. She would pull herself out of this bed and _try again_, damn it all.

Cho's eyes strayed away. Her brow lifted, and her mouth opened up to exclaim, "_Hello_, Fleur!"

Colette looked over her shoulder. Luckily, she was just about done with the story short of the fact that she had come back for her book and found Fleur sprawled upon her bed ungracefully. Colette supposed Cho didn't need to know that anyway. She probably wouldn't even believe her now that Fleur was there looking precise as always. Not even a hair out of place. Colette wished she could do that, look like that, but since she was Colette, a good friend of Fleur's, she knew that is exactly what it was: _looking_ like that.

"Bonjour, Cho," Fleur pronounced with effort, unlike the fluidity of her short curtsey, which came naturally. _Such a show-off,_ Colette would have joked.

"Are you well?" the younger student inquired. She stood, so Colette did too.

When had the sun fallen? Neither of the two had noticed. Dinner must be for what Fleur had left the carriage. Neither asked about that.

"Yes, well?" Colette echoed with intent.

"Oui. Very," Fleur smiled.

"Shall we go to the Great Hall?" Cho suggested, turning in to the opening back into the corridor. Colette and Fleur followed her lead.

Colette was stopped short when they had reached the receiving room just outside the doors to dinner. Fleur's hand was upon her upper arm, so she halted and followed where her eyes were aimed.

No Gryffindor in sight, no _important_ ones anyway.

"Ooh, are we trying something?" Colette whispered excitedly, mostly out of relief.

"I am," Fleur spoke as an answer, and departed leftward up the stairs. Colette hadn't fully mastered the castle... She wasn't sure _anyone_ had ever, actually. Beauxbatons may have been grander, but Hogwarts had its own complexity. But she was sure she knew exactly where Fleur was heading. To Hermione. And where was the girl? There was only one possibility; Colette found it dreadful.


	5. Chapter 5

Ron and Harry had fallen asleep, which all things considered was _wonderful_. It left Hermione alone with her thoughts, and though she could be with them at any moment, she felt especially drawn to them right then. She loved both her boys dearly, but she couldn't talk to them about this and when they put themselves together, they could usually figure out when she has something on her mind. Separately, though, they have a right mind to dismiss it like she wished she could dismiss this thought, these thoughts, of _her_.

Hermione, at once, was reminded of the proverb about speaking of the devil.

Is it odd to think, whenever Hermione saw her, that Fleur looked more and more gorgeous than she could remember? Hermione thought not. It couldn't be odd if it were true.

"H-Hello!" Hermione called out. Stupidly.

If Madame Pince were around, she would be immediately shoved out of her sanctum. Speaking in a library was distasteful, rude, but then she, her friends, and Fleur were the only ones close that Hermione could see. Besides, if she hadn't spoken up in this deadlock of silence, Fleur could easily slip deeper into the walls of shelves, and Hermione had the experience of the last couple of weeks to know that Fleur would evade her even if she took off straight after her.

Today – now – was different, however. Fleur looked left and right in the sections of S's until she heard Hermione speak up. The elegant arch of her eyebrow peaked and she turned up to face Hermione from the three shelves over. Her hand was tracing the spines of books as she passed until then. Fleur smiled.

Clearly, somewhere in France, they taught girls how to walk differently. Ron had said something about it earlier, and about how _they don't make them like that at Hogwarts_. It was nothing Hermione was meant to hear; she was retrieving the book of charms off the shelf when the boys were discussing it. But she had heard, and blast it all she agreed just then if only for a fraction of a moment. They don't make them like that at Hogwarts. And this was _Fleur Delacour_. Hermione didn't think they make them like that anywhere else in the world, only Fleur.

It was weird how Hermione went from not knowing a thing about her to finding her the most fascinating thing this side of the English border. Ironic, as it were, since she was _not_ the one initiating their... whatever it is that they were going for.

Truth be told, Hermione was scared. It was funny when the idea was just an idea, when Fleur was just that girl who may possibly be into Hermione, but now... They were playing at something, and Hermione could never be sure – because her mind wouldn't let her believe it to be true – that Fleur meant anything by any of it.

That day after they had _first met,_ Hermione would say because that is when they officially shook hands and greeted another like civil people, something happened that changed the tone of things a little bit, a small bit that should just be ignored because Hermione was thinking too much about things _again_.

But Fleur looked... So very confident.

As soon as she was close enough, Fleur slowed and slowed herself until she crept inches away from Hermione.

"Ah, '_ello_," her lilt flowed smoothly from her elegant lips that were at once – Hermione realized far too slowly – upon the side of her face. A kiss on the cheek is entirely platonic, _yes, yes, yes_. If she keeps telling herself that, she can play down the sudden thumping of her erratic heart like it just tripped down the stairs while trying to fetch its mail. Or the wave of warm, warm, heat crashing like a tsunami over her skin. And if her mind would keep on with these lovely images, she wouldn't need to even look at Fleur, but of course she did. She looked at Fleur pulling away from the simple gesture.

"Hermione Granger," Fleur breathed.

Her name had never sounded better, if she was to be so honest.

"H-hello, Fleur," she replied much more quietly than before. Fleur was no more than an arm's reach away, and this was intimate space Hermione. She couldn't tell if it was because _this was Fleur_ or_ this was _because of Fleur... Or, if that made any sense. She had found that with her, not much seemed to.


End file.
